


Questioning The Stars

by WinterMagyks



Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: Book: Queen Marie (Dress Up! Time Princess), Friendship, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterMagyks/pseuds/WinterMagyks
Summary: A moment of friendship between two girls in a turbulent time.Or,When Queen Marie escapes to the balcony as yet another ball meant to pacify the nobles drags on into the night, her friend isn't far behind.
Kudos: 4





	Questioning The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> The constellation Cassiopeia is named after a vain queen in Greek mythology.
> 
> Happy reading!

The orchestra plays their piece perfectly, the sweet melody luring many to the amber tiles of the dance floor. The men bow before the ladies of their choice, then diligently guide them to dance with sure, swift steps. It’s a flurry of fabric and colour, dresses of lace, gems and other such fineries rustling against the men's dapper waistcoats. Promised pairs sport smiles as dazzling as their rings, while the hopeful and eligible scan for the optimal partner. The partner they pick tonight may not only be a partner in dance, but one in life as well. 

I hover near the edges of the large ballroom, receiving little more than the obligated, overly-flattering greetings from late arrivals in terms of conversation. 

There are always the gossips to keep me company, young women who have nothing better to do than spread scandals based on flimsy-at-best evidence, but tonight I don’t feel like seeking them out. I’d much rather keep my sullen self apart, lest they pick up on my melancholy mood and share a ‘scandal’ about it tomorrow. A part of me is curious; what fantasy would they come up with this time? Perhaps my ‘doting’ husband has banished a secret lover of mine? 

I shift my gaze from the dancers to where my husband discusses politics with Marquis de Lafayette and some other gentlemen, brow furrowed slightly as he contemplates. I doubt he has moved an inch from when he first arrived; separate from me, the queen who has fallen out of favour. 

My heart stings, and I find myself quickly looking away, finding distraction in the high ceiling. My hands are empty, save the feathered fan held up to hide my face, its long white feathers tickling my nose. It is the closest thing to a shield I shall ever be permitted to wield, even if it is flimsy and incomplete as protection, hiding little of my expression. The married women lounging on plush sofas to my right no doubt see the strain in my smile each time they cast their unsubtle glances my way, peering past the fan’s edges. Their thick, cloying perfume speaks of every flower I can name, and then some. It makes it harder to breath, an action already made nearly impossible by the tightened cage (corset) fastened round my waist and chest. 

They titter, using fans of their own like accessories, swishing them through the air to embellish the stories they tell, as they have no sorrows to hide behind them. Unlike the gossips, their stories focus on their children, and listening is always a painful reminder of my own bereft-ness. Their husbands loiter at the buffet, a long table laden with an excessive amount of rich delicacies, many of them staining the table cloth as the wine disappears and the guests grow sloppy. Such a grand excess of food... 

All at once, it gets to be too much. The lights, the smells, the cacophony of high-pitched giggles, false promises and stomping heels... 

I edge towards an exit curtain, wary of watching eyes. 

Satisfied no one is looking, I dart behind the curtain, gasping when the warm air turns frigid. I spend a moment mesmerized by my breath, a translucent sheet of tiny crystals hovering in the air. It glitters in the moonlight, similar to the frost I know to be forming on the ground below. Crossing the short distance between the balcony entrance and its railing, I allow myself to sigh. To relax for a minute, and be myself. My lonely, useless self who hasn’t seen her husband all night, and whose mistakes only ever seem to grow in number and severity. 

I turn my attention to the sky, blinking rapidly and pinching my arms as a way to stay grounded, but tears have already begun to fall. My eyes burn, and something cold and hard sits in my throat, large enough to suffocate me. What breaths I do manage to take are shallow, short, and in rapid bursts. I feel sick, the panicked urge to breathe and the desire to expel what little fare I’d managed to nibble on tonight warring with each other. How happy would it make the people if they knew? Knew I was well aware of the consequences, even if only after they’d reared their ugly heads, armed with torches and pitchforks? Knew I hated my ignorant actions more than they possibly ever could? 

Would it make a difference if they did? I never wanted this; the expectations, the lies, the- 

"Marie..? There you are." First cautious, then certain when she spots me, Gabrielle's soft voice startles me from my spiralling thoughts. 

I hear the subtle whoosh of the ballroom curtain falling back into place behind her, and give a small wave without turning around to indicate I've heard her. 

I keep my eyes glued to the sky above, sending a silent prayer that the many layers of powder donned earlier haven't been washed away in conspicuous streaks. It might cover up a blotchy face, but if the tears wash it away, what's the point? 

"The king has everyone looking for you... are you alright?" 

I close my eyes when she joins me at the balcony, the beads dangling from the bodice of her dress tinkling as the breeze catches them. I was amazed when I first saw her gown earlier, under the ballroom lights. The pearl beading was exquisite, plentiful but not gaudy. 

This is good. Focus on fashion. The colourful freedom of fashion doesn't make the world seem so grey and hopeless. Unlike certain discussions of potential rebellions and faltering economics. 

"Yes, I'm fine." I straighten my back and take a deep breath of crisp, late autumn air, complete with the scent of dead leaves. The sharp, almost burning feeling in my lungs helps me focus. "I'm ready to go b-" 

She rests a hand on my own, cutting my sentence short better than any spoken word. Her hand is soft from powders and creams, pale and delicate from lack of rough work. It's exactly like mine, and nothing like the calloused hands of the common folk. 

She slowly pries my fingers loose from where they’ve come to grip the balcony railing, nimble fingers rubbing colour back into my white knuckles. Not saying a word, she waits patiently at my side in a show of understanding and acceptance. She is here to listen, not judge. 

"Who am I to lead them, Gabrielle?" I whisper in the rush, my fingers curling around her own now that they're free of their death grip on the railing. "Who am I to lead them, when I am naught but a girl far from home and in waters much too deep?" 

There's a beat of silence where I fear I've said too much. I imagine her leaving, tired of playing polite when there’s nothing to gain from it. It doesn’t take much imagination, she would be far from the first deserter. My fears, however, are proved unfounded when she hardly blinks at my tearful confession. 

"You are the queen that tries her best, and always comes through." 

There, resting on the pillow in his hands was the necklace. True to his words, the piece of jewelry was like nothing I had seen before, the array of finely crafted diamonds not unlike the cluster of constellations I've spent nights gazing upon. So very like the stars I could see from Austria. It was meant to be a constellation of my own, stars strung on a thread that would stay by my side through even the brightest day and cloudiest night, giving me strength to go on.

A moment of homesickness for a sky so similar to this one yet worlds apart in sentiment, a merchant's silver tongue, and a naive ignorance in the value of coin... 

"Not always," I sigh, shaking my head and avoiding eye contact. "I mess up more than I- than France, can afford." 

"Always. Sometimes, you just... need a little nudge." 

I yelp when her teasing nudge nearly knocks me over, the hoops of our skirts swinging in a sudden gust of chilly wind. The movement off her skirt adds weight to her push, while mine throw me off balance. Connected through our held hands, we're sent spinning around the balcony, a chaotic, wild dance where we desperately try to stay upright as our long skirts place themselves under our feet. Plummeting over the edge into the garden below seems a frighteningly close reality. Out of breath, we eventually regain our balance enough to let go of each other and step back, having ended the dance by hugging each other tightly. 

Having stopped before any obvious damage was done to ourselves or our dresses, we appreciate the moment for all its absurdity with laughter. We slouch as much as our many layers will allow and express our joy loudly, unembarrassed by any snorts or weird laughs. This is a moment of joy, a kind so rarely found in the palace that I know to treasure every second of it. 

Our giggles die off just in time, a guard calling for me from where he patrols the garden paths. 

"Your highness!" 

We hastily duck down, creeping closer to the ballroom door. The last thing we want is for the guard to look up and convey my husband’s summons before we can do any face touch-ups and dress fixes. It's just as well though, that our time was interrupted. In her light dress, Gabrielle is shivering something fierce, fingertips nearly matching the lavender hue of her eyes. 

I shoo her in first, taking one last moment to memorize the intricate web of stars. Scattered across the night sky are the images, the symbols and stories, of many brilliant leaders whose legacies have yet to diminish. 

"Am I doing really the right thing?" I murmur, following Gabrielle inside with my head held high. 

Cassiopeia shines brilliantly overhead as my words are lost amongst the stars.


End file.
